


Tell myself you never loved me

by Bebrenx



Category: Clean Bandit (Band), Years & Years (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Making Up, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5053897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebrenx/pseuds/Bebrenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve been broken up for six months when Olly bumps into Neil – just as he’d started thinking he might be able to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell myself you never loved me

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Title from Fleetwood Mac's Silver Springs.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr [here.](http://bebrenx.tumblr.com/)

Olly’s got into a bit of a morning routine on his off days at the moment. Rather than stop at one of the Starbucks or Costa shops that clutter the nearby streets by his house, he prefers to walk through the Common for a longer walk to his favoured independent cafe.

This works out better for a few reasons – firstly, he gets a bit of undisturbed thinking time, to sort out his often crowded thoughts and get himself a bit more in check for the day. Secondly, it’s an opportune time for a spot of people watching, one of his favourite hobbies, as he passes joggers and dog walkers with excitable, floppy-eared pets that Olly desperately wants to kidnap but makes do with patting the odd one that bounds over to him off the lead. 

If he’s up early enough for it to be rush hour, there’s also the rush of harried business people – an abundance of interesting people for him to make up life stories about as he passes by. Then thirdly, he gets a chat with either Nellie or Josef, depending whose shift it is, and a great cup of coffee or tea (depending on his mood) and often something free chucked in, since he’s definitely one of their favourite (or at least most persistent) customers. 

It’s also less hectic than going to one of the big branches, and while people stop by Sharps, the cafe, on their way to work, there are a lot more who settle in for the morning, ensconced in one of the huge velvety armchairs or battered looking sofas with a book. It’s just a very familiar and comforting place to be. 

So, depending on the weather, he’ll go and chill out there for a while, or sometimes on the Common, with a notepad – trying to scrawl down thoughts and lyrics as they strike him, though more often than not he gets frustrated at his inability to get anything down. Even the few sentences or lines he does write look raw and jagged – verging on bitter. Just rereading them makes him feel poisonous and he doesn’t want that to be the picture he paints of what was possibly the brightest time in his life so far.

They’d broken up nearly six months ago and while Olly’s not nearly as volatile as he was for the first few months following it, much of the surrounding fall out that accompanied the split have him left still feeling raw even now. 

The guys had been sympathetic about him struggling to put pen to paper when it came to the new album – they’d even bought him a buttery soft new notebook specifically for writing after his old favourite came to a sad end with Olly ripping out the second half of it. He’d set the pages of scrawled lines on fire with an old lighter, which felt cathartic for about all of two minutes, before a sinking hollowness replaced the feeling and an aching sadness at burning pages of feelings that still sat bubbling under his skin.

But the longer it goes without him stringing enough together, the more worried Olly becomes that Emre and Mikey will get antsy. He’s even more worried it might stress him out to the point that he just forces himself to get something – anything – down and end up hating the result. A vicious circle he’s already anxiously anticipating. 

He must have improved in other aspects at least somewhat – he still thinks about Neil a lot during the day, often absent-mindedly, which can be all the more painful when he goes to get two mugs out the cupboard in his flat or something equally trivial. It’s not as all-consuming and suffocating as it had been though, when he initially struggled to think of anything that had ever made him as happy as Neil in the dark weeks that followed the official split.

He’s even sort of seeing someone now. Ryan. They’d met at a mutual friend’s party, got on well enough, heightened by the buzz of alcohol, got off, and neither had scarpered in the morning so they’ve had a casual thing going for the past few weeks.

Which is nice. It’s not going to be any great romance; Olly has no delusions about that. But it’s warm and easy, and he doesn’t feel constantly on edge about being enough or the relationship disintegrating – fearing it to be too good to be true – because quite frankly, he’s not hugely invested in it. He thinks it’s fairly similar for Ryan, since he admitted to having a rough break a couple of months back too. In a way, it’s like they’re both gingerly getting back on a bike with stabilisers after a nasty crash, before they risk getting back on the real thing. Serving its purpose, but really an initial step to getting back to where they’d like to be.

So, of course, it would be just as Olly’s feeling less delicate, less like every little thing and every single thought in his life is going to come back to Neil, that he sees him again.

He’s enjoying having a lot of time off at the moment – his summer was a good busy with festival after festival and he’d managed to focus enough on hitting the notes to plough through Shine each time, allowing the moments of hurt and anger to seep out in other songs. So they’ve got a month or so off before they’re meant to be back in the studio, which Olly has tried to push to the back of his mind, anxiety taking a vice-like grip of him when he thinks of the pages of blank paper, balled-up unfinished thoughts piling up in his bedroom bin. 

He’d said yes to going to some label do, conscious that he’d been fobbing off a few bigwigs at Polydor about the new album for a bit too long, and figuring he could always beg off early and head over to Ryan’s if it was too dull.

So he got a cab with Mikey, picked up Emre and Dylan on the way, the mood strangely upbeat among them, considering they hadn’t done much of late to be so excited about.

It was also a refreshing change from the constant glances he’d had directed his way in recent months, the oppressive concern and hesitant touches making him feel even more smothered by the weight of his feelings and conscious not to push them onto the others too much. 

They’d wanted to help, but hadn’t known how – though they all managed to in their own way. Emre took him out and matched him drink for drink in drunken camaraderie, even when a pretty brunette caught his eye (on several occasions) he’d stayed at Olly’s side. 

Mikey had bought snacks, lots and lots of snacks, before making him play video games through the night to keep him occupied. He’d compiled a bizarre mix of Olly’s favourites, offering him Babybels and some rare sweets they’d had in Japan once, which had obviously been hoarded away for a special occasion, which was apparently then in honour of Olly’s broken heart. 

And Dylan had made an effort to bring him out to parties, to the pub, wherever there might be new people for Olly to meet, none too subtly trying to match make him with everyone from some hulking guy he used to play rugby with to a tall, floppy-haired bartender who kept giving Olly the eye.

It had all been sweet, if a bit much at times when Olly just wanted to wallow in his own loneliness, but now they’re less careful. Olly rues this all the same when Dylan gets him in a playful headlock when they’re nearly at the party, upsetting his carefully-styled hair.

He’s still fiddling with his ruffled up collar when they arrive, ducking behind Mikey to avoid Anne, a usually lovely lady that works at their label, but who gives him the most pathetic cow eyes whenever she sees him these days and starts quizzing him about his love life. He’s a bit concerned she’s more invested in it than he is to be honest.

It’s a nice venue, dark and swanky but not to the extent where you’d feel out of place for wearing trainers or something ridiculous like that. There are waiters going around with platters, but there are also huge leather sofas with people sprawled across them casually and a big stretch of wooden bar, with a few bartenders working quickly to get drinks out there too. 

“I’ll get the first drinks in before we have to make the rounds,” Dylan says, eyeing Anne cautiously, evidently on the same train of thought as Olly. 

“I’ll come with, you fussy tonight?” Emre asks Mikey and Olly, before Mikey rattles off a list of drinks that will or won’t be acceptable, the rest of them looking on in amusement.

Olly just shrugs and says, “beer, any beer will do”, watching Emre and Dylan make their way through the throng of people now clustering around the bar, before redirecting his attention to Mikey.

Who looks like he’s seen an apparition of some kind over Olly’s shoulder and can’t tell if it’s a good or bad one. 

“You alright?” Olly laughs at his expression, turning around to see what Mikey’s staring at, and promptly wishes he hadn’t, smile slipping off his face almost comically fast.

He’s horribly, horribly unprepared for making direct, unobstructed eye contact with Neil after months of not seeing him at all, but that’s exactly what he’s faced with. His knees are shaky immediately and for one embarrassing moment he actually thinks they might buckle. 

He looks good, of course he does, when he has not? But it’s still a shock, the visceral reaction Olly experiences at seeing that familiar face, eyes fixed intently on Olly already, mouth set, but expression unreadable. Olly hates not knowing what he’s thinking.

Their eyes meet and hold, he swallows, sure it’s written all over his face just how much he still wants Neil unreservedly.

“Do you want to go to the bar? We could just avoid him,” Mikey suggests hesitantly, evidently unsure of what to do about the situation. Olly had briefly forgotten he was there, caught in the horror and also desperate yearning of the sudden moment.

He thinks of going over there, having to navigate a stilted, disjointed conversation – alien to the murmured whispers they’d shared in the dead of night, curled up together, or the long intimate phone calls when they’d be on opposite sides of the world, swapping secrets. The thought of it being so far from that makes him feel sick. He can’t, he just can’t, and the realisation is painful – as if he’s just taken off a forgotten plaster on an old wound, only to see it’s sore and gaping, still fresh.

It’s not cool, not smooth at all, but he allows himself to take one last long look at Neil, drinking in the sight of him – still tall and lean but broad across the shoulders in a way that used to have Olly shivering when he’d strip off deliberately slowly, before crawling up the bed over him. 

His hair’s still the same, and memories flick past of sinking his fingers into the soft strands, tugging to get a particularly desperate groan out of Neil. Then it blurs into the time Neil had been pitifully ill with a cold, nose red and eyes tired and Olly had brought him soup, tucked him on the sofa with a blanket and ran his fingers through his hair soothingly.

He doesn’t recognise the jumper Neil’s wearing – it’s a thin, dark green one, a colour Olly hasn’t seen him in much, but suddenly wishes he had done more often because it looks striking. The long legs encased in tight black jeans are familiar though, so too the white socks peeking out from plimsolls, the laces on his left shoe on the cusp of coming apart completely.

Olly knows the feeling.

He turns on his heel promptly, says, “I need a drink” to Mikey and walks off towards Emre and Dylan, who’ve just made it to the front of the bar.

Mikey catches up with him a moment later, arm coming up around his shoulder in what would look a casual gesture to anyone random who glanced at them, but Olly knows is both to anchor him and shelter him slightly from any curious onlookers who might be aware of the situation.

He’s appreciative, but it also makes him feel even more fragile, insides going swimmy and eyes burning unexpectedly.

“You’re good,” Mikey says quietly, unusually seriously, punctuated with a squeeze to Olly’s shoulder and he focuses on it, pulling himself together infinitesimally. 

“I thought it’d be a lot easier now,” he gets out quietly, when he trusts himself to speak.

Mikey gives him a look that’s far softer than Olly thinks he’s ever seen on him.

“It’s the first time you’ve seen him, even though you’re doing much better – which you are – of course it’s going to be shit. Especially when you weren’t expecting it.” He sounds surprisingly fierce, and Olly supposes he doesn’t want Olly beating himself up about it.

“It just feels like a tiny step forward undone in about two seconds sending me right back to how I felt six months ago,” he says, frustrated, bringing a hand up to rub at his eye, before they make it to Emre and Dylan. 

“Ah, couldn’t wait or didn’t Mikey trust us to get him the right drink?” Dylan says on seeing them, eyeing Mikey amusedly, before handing across a colourful looking tall drink with an umbrella on top.

“And bonus metallic umbrella thrown in for his Majesty,” he adds with a flourish and half bow as Mikey laughs delightedly, evidently enthused about the tacky addition to his drink.

“Here you are Olls, you alright?” Emre’s passing him a beer, but apparently Olly hasn’t managed to school his face into something other than deer in headlights, and he takes a quick swig before meeting his eyes.

“Neil’s here,” he explains, the false casualness in his voice jarring even to his own ears. 

Emre’s eyebrows raise and being Emre, he starts to dart his head from side to side, eyes wide as he glances about with zero subtlety. “Oh shit, where?”

Olly rolls his eyes but it makes him laugh all the same, even more so when Dylan slaps Emre softly round the back of his head. “Subtlety’s not your strong suit is it, mate? Don’t be a tit.”

“Just trying to see where he is,” Emre says, sounding wounded as he rubs the back of his head, though it definitely wasn’t hard enough to have hurt.

“He was back over there,” Mikey gestures slightly more discreetly,with his head back in the direction they came from, only for Emre to push up on his tip toes, hilariously sticking his head up like a fucking meerkat.

“Oh my god, Emre,” Olly groans, pushing past to head far away from him and to a safer part of the lounge, far away from possible ex-boyfriends with their horribly attractive faces and dark, intense eyes.

The others follow, and they dutifully begin greeting the suits they do recognise, along with a group of marketing people who are always fun when it comes to bars and booze.

He lets the others field questions about the next album, though there is one terribly judged query about whether Olly had been suitably inspired by his latest break up, from an obnoxious guy with a giant quiff and banal smile. It led to Emre retorting something short and curt, before moving them on, giving him a not particularly polite dismissal.

Olly’s a little sore at the remark, but he deals better than he thought he would, and when they’ve spoken to everyone they should speak to, he feels lighter, as if a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders.

They find a free sofa, pile on it with some of the marketing lot and another band they haven’t met before – a loud, infectiously giggly trio of girls, Meg, Diane and Lena, who are quick to get the drinks in and dancing going.

It’s nice, he’s relaxed and hasn’t even looked over his shoulder, wondering where Neil might be, so of course it’s when he heads off for the toilet, unsuspecting but smiling to himself, that he bumps into him – and physically this time.

The door to the men’s swings open as Olly steps forward to push it open and as he’s slightly drunk, his reaction time isn’t the quickest and he walks straight into a firm chest, with a small “oops”.

“Oh I’m sorry mate,” is the hastily offered apology, which is all too familiar, and his face snaps up to meet Neil’s slightly stunned face. “Olly?”

“Hi, I was just going to the toilet,” Olly says stupidly, as if he feels the need to defend himself from being in the same place as Neil at the same time. 

He makes to step round Neil, movement all slightly wooden, not knowing quite what else to do – mind suddenly rushing around in a panic but not offering up much in the way of solutions. 

Neil catches his elbow gently. Still so fucking gentle.

“Hey, wait, how are you doing?” his face has got that infuriating unreadable expression on it again, only his slightly furrowed brow and tense jaw giving away that he’s not totally comfortable.

“I was doing okay until I bumped into you out of the blue,” he laughs, trying to make it a joke, but it doesn’t come off – too sharp and real to be teasing.

Neil’s eyes flick away briefly, his mouth an unhappy line.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, but it’s good to see you,” Neil tries again, and the unfailing politeness to his tone makes Olly want to push him, make him show a bit of emotion. It’s not fair if he’s the only one who feels close to unravelling just at the sight of his ex.

“No, I mean it’s just a party my record label’s throwing, why would I be here?” he retorts, again not quite meaning it to come out as biting as it does. He makes an effort to soften his tone; he so wanted to be civil when this day finally came. He was just hoping it wouldn’t be for another couple of months. “And how are you?”

Neil’s gaze tracks Olly’s hand as he rubs at the back of his neck, feeling awkward, like he doesn’t quite fit in his skin in front of Neil. 

He looks back at Olly’s face, before replying, “mostly okay, better than a few months ago anyway”.

Olly’s not sure what he’s expecting but it wasn’t that. There’s nothing malicious or barbed in Neil’s reply, but it gets Olly’s back up immediately nonetheless.

“I can’t imagine how shit it was for you,” he says short and stinging. “Imagine if you’d actually been the one getting dumped.”

The furrow in Neil’s brow deepens, and his mouth twists unhappily as he shakes his head before Olly even finishes talking.

“Olly, that’s not how it was.”

“’Scuse me gentlemen,” a guy in a ridiculous floral waistcoat appears hovering awkwardly next to them, and Olly realises they’re blocking the entry to the men’s loo.

“Sorry!” he jerks forward to move to the side just as Neil does, and they bump together, before Neil catches Olly’s wrist in a feather-light grip and pulls him out the way, so the guy can get past. His heart thumps painfully in his chest just at the one touch.

“I’m not having this conversation here,” he says quietly, hoping his voice doesn’t shake, as he briefly makes eye contact with Neil.

“I want to have it though,” Neil replies immediately, not pushy but determined all the same.

“Oh yeah, it’s always been about what you want,” Olly snaps back, annoyed at himself for the stream of immature responses he can’t seem to clamp down on. He’s not sure he even believes all of them, but he’s just feeling wild and hurt and desperately wrong-footed being here, so close to Neil.

“Yes, I never put you first in the year we were together did I?” Neil finally retorts irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly, visibly trying not to snap back, though there’s a little thrill of vindication in Olly’s chest at getting him to show _something_. “Olly, please. There’s obviously a lot of stuff we haven’t worked through and it’d be good to at least talk about it.”

“It’s been six months,” Olly replies, voice small. “Why now?”

“I didn’t know how much time you’d need and I thought you’d moved on – what with how you were straight afterwards,” Neil shrugs, uncertain. “But I just don’t want things left so shit with us, and when I saw you earlier I figured I’d bite the bullet.”

He tries for a smile, but it quickly sours into a grimace and Olly’s uncomfortable expression.

“I don’t feel ready to talk to you,” he says, hating how vulnerable he’s being by putting it out there, but knowing it’s the truth.

They both pause while the guy in the waistcoat re-emerges, giving them a polite smile and disappearing back down the corridor leading to the bar.

“I can’t not hear from you for months,” Neil says quietly.

“I don’t know when I’m going to feel ready,” he replies, a desperate sadness clawing at him, urging him to change his mind. “And I really do need...” he gestures with his thumb at the loo door, and Neil nods jerkily, as if he suddenly realised he’s kept him there. 

“Oh, sorry, yeah. I guess maybe I’ll see you at some point then,” Neil’s still holding his wrist, Olly realises with a start when he sweeps a thumb across his pulse point. He hopes it doesn’t betray him in pounding at the touch. Olly snatches it away.

Neil steps back, face going carefully blank. Olly has always hated how he could do that – just close off if something isn’t going how he wants, or has the potential to upset him. It’s like this visible self-preservation he’s never had the luck of possessing.

Olly wants to stop him – he thinks Neil’s indifference is one of the most painful things to be faced with, but if his reaction tonight was anything to go by, he might need a little longer before they sit down and have the “can we be friends?” discussion and revisit every past scar.

He watches Neil head back down the corridor, half of him still willing him to turn back around, but he doesn’t glance back.

Olly goes into a stall, locks the door and tucks his knees up, buries his face in them for a moment, waiting for his racing heart to calm down and his hands to stop shaking.

The rest of the evening becomes one dull blur after that, a seemingly unspoken agreement among everyone that they’d get wasted. Olly’s expression was apparently enough that Dylan, Mikey and Emre stayed well away from the topic of Neil for the rest of the night. It doesn’t settle how shaken up he felt after the incident, but it at least lets him shove it to the back of his mind for the time being.

***

In an attempt to distract himself and refocus his energies elsewhere Olly spends the next two weeks going for early morning jogs, making very curious blends of smoothies and carries out a few haphazard attempts at yoga tutorials on YouTube. 

The first three sessions go pretty well, but he gets over-ambitious on his fourth attempt and ends up straining his hamstring ten minutes in, collapsing in a heap on the floor. He decides to take a break from yoga after that. 

He doesn’t drink, even after going to the pub with Dylan on Thursday, so he’s feeling fresh and happy to give himself the night off from his new regime when the following Saturday rolls round and it’s his friend Charlie’s birthday.

Emre’s going, but Mikey’s taken his girlfriend away for the weekend and Dylan’s out for a pub quiz – apparently he’s got a team he plays with regularly and it’s a very serious commitment. 

He meets up with a couple of friends in Hackney to make the short walk across to Charlie’s flat. 

A girl he thinks is her flatmate opens the door when they ring, her smile wide and lazy, as she waves them in, looking slightly worse for wear.

He wonders if it’s bordering on too late rather than fashionably so – that awkward stage to arrive when everyone else is well on their way to pissed and you’re stone cold sober as someone tries to feed you peanuts, a look of stark concern on their face, worrying that you haven’t eaten tonight. This has happened to Olly before.

The flat is busy but not rammed, a few people in the hall, more in the kitchen and from what he can see as they pass the living room door, more dotted on sofas, chairs and the floor in there.

“Charlie’s out on the balcony,” the girl – her name might be Daisy – calls, and Olly heads straight for it, not seeing any familiar faces so far – though apparently his mates do, as Joe and Liam disappear into the kitchen. On second thought, it might just be the prospect of alcohol luring them away.

Charlie’s smoking with a couple of girls Olly’s met a few times, and she throws her arms around him excitedly when he steps onto the balcony.

“It’s so good to see you, babe, did you come with Joe and Liam?”

“Happy birthday!” he squeezes her back, before nodding. “Yeah and stupidly left Liam holding the present, which is from all three of us, but they’ve prioritised finding vodka.”

She shakes her head in disapproval, “nice to know where I rank, but at least I’ve got your loyalty”. Charlie presses a kiss to his cheek, and starts chattering away about her day so far, before her friend Allie grabs her arm.

“Does Olly know by the way?” her eyes widen a little and Olly nearly snorts at Allie not even attempting to be discreet.

“Know what?”

Charlie turns back to him, face hopeful. “Neil’s here. I was going to let you know beforehand that he was coming, but then I thought that would make a big deal about it, when you’re probably just trying to let it go now. So he’s here, in the living room, but obviously there are enough people here you don’t need to speak to him if you don’t want to.”

She keeps an arm around him as if she’s concerned he might suddenly bolt back out again, which he is briefly tempted to do. The universe seems to think it’s fucking hilarious to make six months go without a peep from Neil, and only just when Olly’s a little more settled, does it decide to throw him up twice in a matter of weeks for Olly to deal with. Perfect timing.

“Oh, okay,” he says instead, with affected nonchalance and probably fooling nobody. He gestures for Allie to pass across the bottle of wine she’s been swigging from and when she does, takes several glugs.

“Better go say hello then,” he says, all false bravado, rationalising that at least he has a moment to compose himself this time, hoping he might be able to force himself to be able to talk to Neil now.

He passes Joe and Liam on his way back, who are clutching several Coronas between them.

“Here Olls, just gonna say happy birthday to Char,” Joe says, handing one over.

“I’ll be in the living room,” Olly announces, gripping the bottle like a lifeline before steeling himself and making his way in.

Neil’s on one of the sofas with a guy and a girl Olly might’ve met once or twice, arm stretched across the back of it, looking relaxed and gorgeous. He’s wearing a t-shirt Olly bought him, and he can’t stop the bubble of pleased possessiveness that floats up in his chest at that realisation.

“Hey,” he seizes upon a lull in their conversation to step up by the sofa, and instantly regretting it when three pairs of eyes turn towards him.

Neil’s expression is painfully blank as his eyes flit up and over Olly, though for a second it looks like his hand grips the sofa more tightly.

“Hiya,” the girl smiles brightly at him, gives a cute little wave. “I’m Aimee, I think we might’ve met once. You’re Olly right?”

“Neil’s Olly?” the guy in the middle pipes up curiously, eyes flicking between them. Olly can feel his cheeks heat, suddenly not sure how to answer other than nodding at the girl and not acknowledging the guy.

“Not mine,” Neil says shortly, looking away, and it’s neutral in tone, but it feels cutting in its brevity and casualness. 

Olly’s sharp intake of breath is horribly loud in the awkward silence that follows.

“Oh,” the guy looks slightly mortified and Olly feels a little pleased he’s not the only one, takes pity on him, and holds out his hand.

“I think we also might’ve met once, but I can’t remember your name,” he offers more brightly than he feels and the guy seizes on the chance to move on from the awkward moment.

“Sorry mate, if it was one of these things I was probably off my face,” he’s apologetic, laughs self-deprecatingly. “I’m Sam.”

“Nice to meet you and don’t worry at all, I was probably the same,” Olly tries for a smile, perching on the arm of the sofa where Aimee pats encouragingly. 

“Yeah, Olly gets really drunk quite a lot at parties like this, can be quite embarrassing can’t it Olls?” Neil tosses into the conversation, with just enough edge for it to sting, eyes glancing across Olly as if he’s not there.

“I – I haven’t, I mean,” he’s suddenly lost for words. Neil might sometimes have been trivialising and flippant over things in the past, which hurt when it was something Olly truly cared about, but he’d never done it deliberately, dishing out remarks to make him feel embarrassed – especially not in front of other people.

He’s had that before in relationships and Neil had been so, so different to that – sincere in every touch, every note he left when he didn’t want to wake Olly if he had an early flight. Or every bunch of flowers – each more beautiful than the last – that he left in Olly’s hotels for everything from an anniversary to a magazine cover. 

It’s the worst feeling to know he can direct that towards Olly and is doing so now, entirely intentionally. 

He’s regretting coming in to say hello at all, thinking he could be the bigger person, try to make amends.

“I’m going to get a drink, does anyone want anything?” Neil stands suddenly, doesn’t look at Olly.

“Another G&T would be amazing babe,” Aimee smiles gratefully as Neil takes her empty glass, but looking between the two of them slightly concerned.

Neil doesn’t wait for Olly or Sam to reply before striding off out of the room.

It’s like Olly’s heart has shrunk in his chest.

“Sorry about him, I think he was going to try and be mature than this,” Aimee starts slowly, still confused. “I know the break up was hard on him,” she darts a look at Olly and quickly adds on, “for both of you, but it’s not like him to just be rude, I don’t know what’s wrong with him”.

Olly really does not want to be poring over Neil’s actions with his friends.

“So you are _Olly_ Olly?” Sam asks, seemingly unable to help himself, looking a little embarrassed to be asking, but still wondering, and Olly nods. 

“You know, I’m just going to try and catch him by himself,” he decides, emboldened by both a brief surge of courage and a wave of resentment and hurt at Neil speaking to him like that, stepping around the sofa. “It was nice to meet you both again, if briefly.”

They wave at him, smiling extra brightly as if to compensate for Neil being a total dick, and Olly quickly ducks away, cheeks still burning at the whole encounter.

When he enters the kitchen Neil’s taking far longer than he usually would to pour out a drink, tipping the gin, then pausing, before pouring out a little again. 

“That was rude,” he says instantly, and Neil jerks, spilling a little gin across his hand and on the counter with a frustrated “fuck”.

He turns to Olly suddenly, and he looks properly angry for a second.

“Seriously?”

The slightly raised voice gets a few curious looks from others in the kitchen, and Olly reaches forward to touch Neil’s arm, hesitates, drops it again.

“Yes, seriously. You think it’s okay to talk to me like that at all, let alone in front of other people?”

Neil’s face which had gone shuttered, flickers to a brief picture of discomfited regret, and it’s that expression which gives him hope and the courage to ask his next question.

“Can we talk? Outside?”

Neil casts a look round quickly, before letting out a sigh and heading back out the kitchen, G&T forgotten.

Olly hurries after him, out the door and down the stairs, before Neil stops just outside the front door, leans against the wall and crosses his arms.

“You’ve deigned to speak to me now then?” Neil says shortly, and all his words are sharp, face stony.

In the few arguments they’d had, Olly had hated seeing him look like that – unlikely to back down and occasionally prone to dismissive comments that would make Olly’s heart ache.

“I wanted to before, I just wasn’t ready,” he tries to explain sadly, and Neil’s expression softens slightly. “But the way you just dismissed me in there was horrible, Neil, seriously you’ve never done that.”

“Like you dismissed me the other week?” he snaps back.

“You’re not being fair,” his voice has gone smaller, trying to keep the tears at bay. “You left me, I didn’t leave you, and now you think you have the right to control when we speak again and how it all goes. It’s not fair. And you can’t fucking talk to me like you just did in there.”

Neil’s shoulders hunch up and he looks miserable. “I know that was too far. I’m sorry.” His eyes flick around, and Olly feels a little sick thrill of satisfaction he’s at least looking anguished. Neil bites his lip, opens his mouth and closes it again on a whoosh of air, frustrated.

“ I didn’t just leave you, the distance was killing us and – ”

“Only because you let it,” Olly interrupts hoarsely, shivering in the cold, wishing he’d had the sense to bring something thicker than his light jacket.

“You were fucking miserable too,” Neil barks out, eyes darker than usual, but shrugging off his coat and offering it to Olly. He’s cutting his nose off to spite his face he nose, but he shakes his head. “I didn’t want us to carry on like that – we never saw each other and it just hurt all the time.”

Neil’s eyes narrow. “And forgive me for thinking you weren’t bothered about it, since you didn’t seem that torn up when you went and fucked someone else the next week.”

Olly curls in on himself, digging his nails into his arms as if that will distract him from Neil’s words. An ugly wisp of heartache curls inside, and he doesn’t want to cry, goddamn it.

“Are you kidding me?” he can’t help shouting in response, trying to keep the noise down but failing. “Yes I was fucking heartbroken, so I went out, drunk too much and slept with someone. That’s hardly a crime, is it? The guy I was fucking head over heels for had just told me our relationship wasn’t worth hanging onto. I thought we were going to work through it,” his voice quietens at the end, and he’s audibly upset now, can feel the thickness clogging his throat, his eyes blurring from the tears. “But you didn’t want to talk to me at all.”

“You didn’t try to salvage it either, did you?” Neil says brokenly, hand moving out briefly as if he’s going to touch Olly then thinks better of it.

Olly misses him more in that moment than he would do if he were miles away, far out of sight. 

“I didn’t see the point when you’d said the distance was too hard and you couldn’t see it working out so cut it off then. And then how you just ignored me at Elisabeth’s party. You wanted me to put myself out there after that?”

Neil glances away, back again, doesn’t speak. Maybe doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“I just think you’ve got a nerve thinking you can dictate when and where we start talking again, if we do at all. When I’ve spent the past six months missing you everyday when you didn’t even want me anymore – do you know how hard that is?” Olly presses on, even though his voice cracks on the “want me” he can’t seem to stop now he’s started.

Neil steps forward as if on a snap decision, and he does touch Olly this time, a hand pressing gently to his shoulder, but the heat spreads through him like wildfire.

“I want you all the time,” he gets in response, which is what he’s dreamed of hearing for months, but not how Neil says it, low and pained. 

“I’m sorry, I know fucked up, it was just shit flitting from place to place, you know how I felt. Constantly disorientated, never knowing which way was up, never being home and never being with you longer than a few days. Maybe I thought it’d hurt less if we didn’t have to deal with that at all. I don’t know, it seems fucking stupid now.”

He runs a hand through his hair, agitated.

“You didn’t even try to talk about it with me,” Olly whispers, feeling wretched, still trying to contain the hot tears that are threatening to spill over. “You just shut off, Neil, you know I hate when you shut me out and then I’m left picking over everything I’ve ever done in our relationship to see what I’ve done wrong. That was fucked up.”

“Baby,” Neil tails off, reaches a hand up to stroke along Olly’s cheek. They’re both surprised when Olly flinches away from the touch. 

Neil’s face crumples. “You don’t want me near you anymore.”

“It just hurts,” Olly says, feeling weary, the misery swelling deep within him.

“I don’t think I can stand not having you in my life, Olly,” Neil’s sincerity has always caught Olly off guard, warmed him in its easiness, but now it’s hard to hear.

“You did for six months,” he points out, not meaning to be difficult, but just feeling utterly worn to the bone. 

Neil’s eyes are shiny, Olly catches a glimpse of the tears when he turns his head and the light of a streetlamp catches his profile. It’s startling how beautiful he looks, the sharp lines of his face even more defined at that angle, and Olly aches all over, clenches his fingers into his fist so he doesn’t reach out to touch. 

He laughs, but it’s a strangled, agonised imitation, before he looks back at Olly. “Every single day was torture Olls, that’s not an exaggeration. I’d thought since you’d got with someone else you’d decided you were done with me completely, which is why I didn’t come over at Elisabeth’s. And, I mean I couldn’t blame you, so I just spent hours hovering over your name in my contacts wanting to call you.”

He holds out a hand hesitantly then, and Olly, in a moment of weakness, places his hand in it. Neil’s fingers are tender as they stroke over the back of his hand. “All the time.”

Nothing is really resolved, Olly’s feelings are still mixed up and on edge, as if they’re bruises he’s been poking at persistently. He knows this is definitely not the right decision when they haven’t really established where they stand, aside from the fact they’ve both been wrong in some respects and both have been utterly miserable since they’ve been apart. 

But he reaches out for Neil’s collar anyway, tugging at it, heat blossoming in him when Neil comes easily, as if it’s second nature.

Neil moves his free hand to cup Olly’s cheek, still hesitant as if worried Olly’s going to move away again, but he just sighs shakily, eyes drifting close when Neil leans in to press their foreheads together.

“You were everything then and you still are,” he murmurs, and Olly’s thankful he chooses to kiss him then, to somewhat muffle the sob at the back of his throat.

It’s more wondering than demanding, as if it’s their first kiss, a flutter of shared breath and feather-light brush of lips.

It actually feels more like a promise of a kiss rather than the intense, passion-fuelled ones he’s used to them sharing, and Olly’s head goes light at that – surprised something so familiar could still feel so new.

Neil lets out a short, hurt noise and presses closer, Olly enjoying feeling the scrape of brick from the building against his back, centring him amid the whirling chaos of his mind.

Olly lets go of Neil’s hand to push his up into his hair, nails scraping at the nape of his neck to draw him closer still, the cologne Neil’s used for months a heady scent around him.

Neil flicks out his tongue questioningly, as if unsure Olly will allow it, as if Olly’s in any right headspace to be making rational decisions about getting with his ex-boyfriend.

He whimpers and Neil clutches at his hip, hand pushing inside his jacket, feeling under his shirt, desperate to make skin on skin contact.

The kiss then seems to lose any prior restraint, hot, wet and wanting, Olly unable to stop himself pressing down on Neil’s thigh, seeking out any pressure. When he facilitates it by moving it up for Olly to start grinding against him, Olly can’t seem to control the quiet little “ah, ah, ah” that slips out, the noises making Neil groan and kiss him harder. 

Neil’s just reached down, knuckles brushing him over his tracksuit bottoms, when the sharp creak of the door opening snaps them to attention.

Olly shoves Neil off him, not bothering to adjust himself, but taking a moment to try and find his composure, breaths coming in short gasps.

Three people stumble out, and Olly’s not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed when he sees two of them are Joe and Liam, Liam’s arm around a pretty redhead.

“Olls, there you are!” Joe catches sight of him immediately, arm flying out as if in slow-motion, clearly having drunk a decent amount. “We were looking all over for you.”

Liam’s just staring at Neil, and then Joe catches sight of him too, eyes narrowing, clear distaste on his face. “Oh, he’s with you.”

“We’re, um, just trying to talk stuff through,” Olly volunteers, brought back down to earth with a crash.

“What’s there to talk about, he fucked you off for a pathetic excuse – is he trying to crawl back now?” Joe says loudly, and Olly knows he’s just being protective, but it’s still mortifying.

“Hey,” Neil starts, sounding both put out and upset, as if he’s about to start arguing about their relationship in front of a group of people. Olly grabs his arm as he steps forward, shoots him a pleading look and he stops immediately, mouth turning downwards unhappily as if he’d very much prefer to continue arguing. Which he undoubtedly would.

“It’s not that simple, which is what we were just discussing,” he says quietly, still feeling too tired for everything that’s happened, still distracted by Neil’s bottom lip, which he’s licking over as if trying to recall the taste of Olly from a moment ago.

“Looked pretty simple from where we were, when you were crying your eyes out for a month and getting pissed most nights,” Joe blusters on, directing it all at Neil, leaving Olly to gape in horror at him just throwing it out there. “We’d go out and he’d be staring at his phone the whole time as if you’d be calling anytime soon, poor sod.”

Liam steps in then, casting Olly a soft, sympathetic look, taking Joe by the arm, saying, “we were just heading off, Joe’s a bit drunk and obviously has a lot of feelings, we’ll leave you to it if you’re alright Olly? Charlie said you were maybe staying over”.

Olly nods, grateful for the intervention. “I can just get a cab otherwise, I’ll text you when I get in,” he agrees, lets Liam wrap him up in a quick hug with a quiet “be careful, Olls, yeah?” in his ear, before Liam slings his arm around Joe and drags him off, the poor girl on his other side looking relieved the encounter is finally coming to an end.

When they’ve disappeared around the corner, he turns back to Neil, who has pushed a hand into his hair agitatedly, looks back at Olly, his face looking conflicted.

“Did you really?” 

He’s about to ask _really, what?_ before he realises, Joe’s words springing up again, embarrassment returning in a rush. He looks away, gives a half-nod, says, “like I said, I was pretty fucking heartbroken”. 

“God,” Neil says brokenly, stepping closer, arms coming up to wrap around Olly’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Olly.”

It’s about here that Olly thinks he’s reached his threshold for the night of about what he can tolerate, the spike and drops of emotion, stormy conversations, his aching, aching heart – it’s all just become a bit much.

“I’m going to head off, I think,” he says finally, pulling back from Neil to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to wipe away the gritty feeling.

“But – I...” Neil trails off, tries again. “Can I see you again? Soon? I don’t want it left like this.”

“Me neither,” Olly acknowledges tiredly. “Yeah, I just can’t do it anymore tonight.”

Neil looks across his face carefully. “Let me call a cab, if you don’t mind sharing? I’ll drop you off first.”

Olly nods, too knackered to protest over anything else this evening, the fight utterly drained from him.

He lets Neil hand rest on the back of his neck, probably too intimate, but then they had just been kissing against the wall, so Olly doesn’t really have any concept of what is and isn’t appropriate right now.

He’s quiet in the cab drive back, watching East London pass in a blur of bright lights and dark buildings, can hear Neil open his mouth a couple of times as if he’s about to speak, but nothing comes. 

When it pulls up by Olly’s flat he digs in his pocket, but Neil stops him with a quiet, “I’ve got it”.

“Thanks,” Olly meets his eyes briefly, heart thumping wildly in his chest at the look Neil’s giving him. 

“I’ll text you – your number still the same?” Neil adds, looking sad for a moment – that it’s got to the point where he has to check.

Olly nods, gives him a small smile and hesitant wave, before opening the door, thanking the driver and making his way up to the door. 

He makes it upstairs, gets a glass of water, before heading to his room and sits down on his bed shakily, breath leaving in a rush.

He lays down, staring at the ceiling in the dark, before feeling his phone vibrate from his pocket.

_I think about kissing you every single day._

It’s too much seeing a message like that after months of nothing and now all this in one night. He puts his phone on one side, goes to brush his teeth and in an exhausted moment of defeat, decides he’ll deal with it all in the morning.

***

He hears nothing from Neil for two days, begins to think fuck him for messing him around again, presumably just being drunk and overly handsy, not thinking things through.

But then he gets a call when he’s in Sharps, sitting in the corner armchair with a green tea and a carrot muffin with delicious cream cheese frosting on top, which Nellie had given him as soon as she’d seen his morose face.

He stupidly doesn’t check the name before he picks up, distracted by a dollop of frosting that has just dropped and missed his tracksuit bottoms by about an inch, except now that means it’s on the fucking chair instead.

“Bollocks,” is what he opens with, swiping at the offending frosting with a paper napkin, but only succeeding at smearing it further into the chair.

“Olly? You alright?” Neil sounds like he wants to be amused, but is too nervous to go with it, voice cautious.

“Neil, oh hi, wow, whoops. I wasn’t expecting your call and I’ve just dropped some frosting from a really nice muffin down me,” he blurts out, nerves setting in, making him talk too much. 

Neil chuckles then, and it’s warm and fond, and Olly wants to cry.

“I just wanted to follow up from the other night, to see if we could have a proper chat. There were a lot of people and a lot of, um, drink, so it’d be nice to see you, just you,” he replies casually, but there’s a note of hope audible underneath.

“Um, yes, that’s something we could do,” he replies and promptly shakes his head at himself, glad Neil’s not actually there to witness this.

“You don’t sound very sure?” Neil persists, sounding a little deflated.

“No, I think it’d be good, get some closure, sort things out after all those months,” he blunders on, bites at the skin by his thumbnail anxiously. What the fuck is he talking about?

Neil lets out a frustrated breath. “Closure? I still – I’m still fucking in lo-,” he stops. “Look, I know it’s sudden but are you busy right now?”

Olly looks sadly at the offending smear of frosting, then at the blank page of his notebook staring back at him aggressively, the three abandoned balled up pieces of paper next to it.

“No, not really. I’m in a coffee shop.”

“Sharps?” Neil says instantly, and it shouldn’t make him smile that Neil still remembers it’s his favourite haunt, but it does.

“Yes.”

“I can be there in 20, is that alright?”

“Okay.”

***

Olly spends the first ten minutes glancing at the window anxiously, even though he knows Neil said he’d be there in 20, makes three more attempts to get the stain off the armchair, before giving up and thinking it’ll have to just be another mark of character for the poor battered thing.

The next ten are spent fidgeting, with a quick dash to the toilet and then he collects a second green tea from Nellie, before he settles back in his chair and thinks maybe he should look like he’s doing something.

He opens up his notepad and ends up doodling, rather than writing anything of note. 

He’s very caught up in providing the sun he has drawn with a fetching pair of sunglasses when a slight shadow falls over him.

“Nice picture.”

He looks up sharply, sees Neil not even trying to hide the soft look he’s giving him and flushes, wishing he didn’t feel like he’s been transported back to the beginning of their relationship, before he’d felt blissfully secure and so very lucky.

“I was supposed to be doing a bit of writing.”

“This is definitely much worthier of your time,” Neil smiles, hesitating for a moment before sitting down in the chair opposite Olly. He leans forward to peer more closely at the picture. “Is that a garden gnome?”

“Mmm,” Olly nods. “Not sure what the inspiration was for that.”

Neil laughs, tilts his head consideringly. “I missed you.”

“You can’t just say things like that.”

“But why? It’s the truth,” Neil’s obstinate, and Olly loves and hates it about him in equal measure, how he’ll push if he’s sure on something, thinking sincerity in feeling can be enough all the time.

“It’s a lot out of nowhere,” Olly says, scribbling back and forth on the corner of a page, glancing back up at Neil. “I mean, I told you, I miss you all the time, but we don’t speak for six months and then all of a sudden it’s ‘I’m still madly in love with you’?”

He swallows heavily at that, thinking suddenly he’s not actually certain Neil said that, but hopes the fear isn’t obvious in his eyes.

“I thought you were over it,” Neil leans forward, reaches a hand out over Olly’s. “I didn’t want to come swooping back in when I was the one that mostly fucked it up, when you were getting on with your life. But honestly, Ol, I’ve regretted it every single day.”

“If there’s any chance of us trying again, I want to try, more than anything. Tell me what I need to do.”

He doesn’t plead, doesn’t beg, it’s not Neil’s style. But it’s painfully earnest and Olly knows he’s serious, feels his heart thudding wildly in his chest, feeling a stupid smile threatening to break out across his face.

“You don’t need to do anything. You’ve always had me,” he says quietly, finger tracing the rim of his cup. “But you can’t do that to me again.”

Neil rests his elbows on the table, hands coming up to hold Olly’s face. “Fuck, Olly, I’m never letting you go again, I couldn’t.”

The smile makes an appearance then, it nearly hurts with how wide it is, and Neil traces his knuckle down Olly’s cheek. “I’ve missed you smiling.”

His face shutters all of a sudden and he looks down, tongue wetting his bottom lip nervously. “I did also want to say sorry again about the other night. I was feeling embarrassed and hurt, obviously, after you didn’t want to talk to me before, and I just didn’t think about – well anything actually.”

Neil’s cheeks have gone a little flushed, which hardly ever happens, and despite his previous proclamations coming easily enough, he’s flustered over this.

“It just wasn’t okay at all, you know I’ve always wanted you to know you’re great, really great, and the last thing I want to do is upset you or, fuck, embarrass you. I’m sorry.”

His eyes are big, dark and concerned, mouth downturned in a sad curve, and he sounds quietly devastated. 

Olly reaches across the table, grabs him by the collar and hauls him into a kiss.

It’s not at all as smooth as he’d hoped – his elbow bangs on the table a bit painfully, their mouths catch at an awkward angle at first, and Olly is about 90 per cent sure he’s just knocked the other half of his carrot muffin on the floor, possibly via the poor bloody chair again, but he couldn’t really give a fuck.

Neil takes a moment – evidently taken a bit aback, but he’s acquiescent, letting Olly sweep his tongue across his lip in a gentle tease. When Olly pulls back, Neil blinks, looks a little dazed, and Olly smiles smugly at him.

“Are you finished talking?”

“I – I think so?” Neil offers, eyes seemingly caught on Olly’s mouth.

“And we’re back together, properly?”

“Yes, please.”

“And neither of us is doing any stupid dumping without a properly considered discussion, which will be happening never?”

“Yes,” Neil says, smiling widely back at Olly now.

“Okay, good, glad we’ve cleared that up. Come on,” he stands, shoves his notepad and pen into his bag and slings it over one shoulder. 

“Where are we going?”

Olly waits for Neil to follow him out the door, throwing a wave over his shoulder to Nellie as he goes, who’s looking very interested indeed at the proceedings, before he flicks a coy look Neil’s way.

“Back to mine, we’ve got six months to make up for.”

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Neil lets out on an exhale, catching up the last few steps and then overtaking Olly in a jog. “Well, in that case, come along, we don’t have all day.”

Olly snorts, reaches out a hand to shove him, but Neil predicts it, catches it instead, intertwines their fingers, and pulls Olly along next to him so they’re holding hands.

“I missed that too,” he says quietly, turning so it’s said directly into Olly’s ear.

“Missed what?”

“Fucking you.”

He says it low and hot, still and Olly shivers, very tempted to take Neil behind a tree on the Common and do it then and there, shame be damned. It’s not like Neil would mind – in fact he’d be more than for it, if his past encouragements in public are anything to go by.

He restrains himself though, turns to Neil to raise his eyebrows reproachfully.

“That’s not something I missed about you.”

“What, the fucking?” Neil asks in disbelief. Olly laughs at his put out expression, but he keeps his mouth set in a disapproving line.

“No, your terribly dirty mouth.”

Neil’s face quickly morphs into a familiar dirty smirk that makes heat coil low in Olly’s stomach.

“That is not what you’ve said during our very late phone calls, can I remind you,” he says smugly, thumb stroking up along Olly’s in a light caress.

“Oh my god, shut up,” he shakes his head, but he can’t stop the smile spreading, and Neil notices, smiling back broadly, eyelashes a dark flutter as he winks. It should be cheesy, but it’s just incorrigibly attractive, much like most things Neil does.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m going to make sure you’re back to being desensitised to this dirty mouth in the very near future, I can assure you.” Neil’s voice is one of Olly’s favourite things – even more so when it’s low like this, laced with promise.

“Yeah, yeah, all talk, let’s see some action,” he rolls his eyes, leading them along the diagonal of the Common, the quickest route back to his flat.

“You know I would quite happily get you up against a tree – this one right here in fact,” Neil says all matter-of-fact, as if he’s not manhandling Olly up against the tree in question in broad daylight, mouth curling, all intimate invitation. Olly tries very hard not to whimper out loud.

“But firstly, you’d probably complain about splinters for the next week, which is a bit of a turn off, and secondly, you’re not as much of an exhibitionist as me, so don’t you start talking to me about talk and no action.”

He folds Olly into him then, taking his mouth in a quick kiss with a lot of tongue, sliding one big hand up to tilt his chin into a better position, his ring a familiar, reassuring pressure against Olly’s cheek.

Olly sighs into his mouth, eyes slipping shut at thrilling wet heat of the kiss, before Neil pulls back, squeezing his hand and pulling him away from the tree.

“It’s this way isn’t it?” he asks, not really seeking a response since he’s been to Olly’s so many times before, but walking backwards to keep his eyes on Olly, apparently pleased with himself at shutting Olly up.

“You’re such a dick,” Olly says, shaking his head to clear his suddenly very fuzzy mind, but smiling all the same.

He’s feeling so light it’s as if he’s floating a few centimetres above the ground as he bounces alongside Neil happily, unable to stop his gaze from sliding back to Neil every few seconds, just so pleased to have him near.

“I forgot to tell you I like your hair like this,” Neil says suddenly, nodding at Olly’s head, the short curls growing back after struggling for a while after resenting the bleach. “Reminds me a bit of when we first met.”

His voice is soft and Olly can’t stop the shy smile from cropping up, scrubs a hand across the back of his head. “Thanks.”

“You look good, really good, but then you always do,” he says and it’s almost wistful. 

Olly speeds up, desperate to get back to stop Neil saying many more painfully earnest things when he can’t really do much about it here.

They get back to his flat in around five minutes, which is probably a record for Olly – or at a record since he split with Neil. He does after all, have fond memories of dashing across the Common drunkenly on a few summer evenings, skin warmed by the surprisingly scorching August sun, heads bleary from too much Pimms after afternoons spent in pub gardens and hands sticky from ice lollies – which had been part of the problem. They’d tried to one up each other to see who could be the most overtly sexual, ending up with both of them frustrated and hurrying back to Olly’s flat, Neil barely getting through the door before Olly had his trousers down by his knees and his cock in his mouth.

He’s tempted to do the same now, when they clatter in, keys cast haphazardly on the side, just in time before Neil sweeps him up in a kiss, filled with pent-up heat.

But it’s been so long, he wants them to do it properly, in an actual bed, so he stops before it gets too far, murmurs “want you in my bed,” and Neil nearly trips over his feet in his rush to Olly’s bedroom.

They go slowly at first, the kissing filthy, but unhurried, drawn out as they undress each other, touches light, almost reverent.

Neil stretches Olly out along the bed, brushes kisses from his wrist up his arm and along his collar bone before asking quietly, “when did you last...?” trailing off before finishing the sentence. Olly gets the meaning at once anyway. 

“Last week,” he says honestly, thinking of the rushed blowjobs with Ryan, before he left on a work trip.

Neil frowns over him, asks, “Who was it?”

“This guy I’ve been seeing sort of casually,” Olly replies, tilting his head to give Neil better access from where he’s kissing along his neck.

“What’d you do?”

“He gave me head and then I, oh fuck, returned the favour,” Olly hisses as Neil bites a little, sucks hard for a moment, before moving to the hollow his throat and doing the same.

“Obviously not planning on seeing him anymore,” Olly adds breathily, as Neil strokes up his side tenderly, still mostly intent on marking up his neck.

“Good,” is all the response he gets, quiet but focused, as if Neil’s on a mission to lay claim to Olly all over again, which he doesn’t really mind. “How was he?”

Olly feels quivery at the questions, turned on, unable to think straight, not sure how Neil wants him to answer, so opts for honesty.

“He’s good, really good, he – uh,” Olly breaks off on a whimper when Neil’s hand moves to brush across the head of his cock, with curiosity rather than intent, as if Olly would be anything other than incredibly hard right now. “He gets really into it, can go for a while, even though his jaw must ache like fuck,” Olly finishes, relishing the slight growl Neil can’t contain as he nips along Olly’s jaw line before moving up so they’re making eye contact, close enough tendrils of his hair brush Olly’s forehead.

“Okay, I don’t think I want to hear about this guy anymore,” he says wryly, mouth quirked as if he knows he deserved it for asking in the first place.

“You’re better anyway,” Olly feels the need to emphasise, always wanting to be sincere with Neil.

“Should hope so, I’ve had a year to work out what you like,” Neil retorts petulantly, but the duck of his head does little to conceal the pleased smile, flash of a dimple appearing.

“Gonna show me what you’ve learnt?” Olly asks, teasingly, still enjoying the thrill of winding Neil up.

“Well, if I remember correctly, you complain about hickeys but secretly love them,” he accompanies this with a little pressure to the tender skin he’d just been sucking on, Olly biting his lip to contain a hiss at the spark of sharp pain. “But like them best when you’ve got some hidden where other people can’t see them, just for you and me,” he goes on, sliding down Olly gracefully, fingers pressing meaningfully on his inner thighs. 

Olly shivers in anticipation. When Neil goes about replicating his love bites on the low jut of Olly’s hipbone, dotting a couple on his thighs, he can’t help whining a little, one hand fumbling in the sheets to grip onto something, while the other comes to rest in Neil’s hair, ready to tug him off if it gets too much. But Neil’s always been bloody good at knowing just how much is too much though, knows just how hard Olly likes it, when to back off. It’s a little disconcerting.

After Neil soothes over one spot Olly’s sure is going to be particularly vivid come tomorrow morning, he hums and pulls back, looks up at Olly. “How am I doing so far?”

“Not bad,” Olly grits out, lifting his head up briefly to see Neil’s wide smirk, before dropping it back down again, deciding he doesn’t need to see that right now.

“And depending on your mood, you’re quite fond of some long drawn-put foreplay, aren’t you baby?” Neil’s hand pets over Olly’s cock, still nowhere near enough, light and teasing, a flicker of promise. “But not today I don’t think. Not sure I could last that long,” he tacks on honestly, the hunger plain in his voice.

“’m just gonna,” he disappears out of sight, and Olly can hear him rustling around on the floor, presumably digging out a condom.

Olly props himself up on his elbows immediately, schools his face into an offended expression. “Did you come prepared? You just assumed we’d be...?”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, I have something on me all the time.”

Olly grins, can’t help adding, “that doesn’t really help your case”.

“It’s hardly raining condoms you twat, you should be happy I’m an advocate of safe sex,” Neil grumps, crawling back along the bed towards Olly, hand grazing his cock as he does, which is definitely on purpose.

“Alright, alright, you can get back to telling me what you think I like best,” Olly snorts, lifting a hand to skim his thumb over Neil’s cheek, brushing that lovely dimple he’s missed so much.

“Other than my dick in general, I happen to remember someone is very much a fan of my fingers,” Neil says conversationally, and Olly needs only the light brush of his hand as encouragement to part his legs, Neil humming approvingly as he does. 

He can’t tell if Neil also brought lube or he’d picked up some of Olly’s but he’s nudging a finger at him and it slips in easily, watching Olly with soft eyes as he lets out a harsh breath, eyes stinging suddenly at the feeling of having Neil so close to him again after months apart. 

“All right?” Neil’s hushed, eyes fixed on where he’s slowly setting a deliberate rhythm – it’s driving Olly wild.

“Yeah c’mon, I want more.” 

Two fingers are better and when Neil slips in a third, he’s letting out short whimpers, legs falling open further, hand settling on the nape of Neil’s nape to bring him close for a kiss.

“I’d get myself off thinking about you like this,” Neil whispers, hoarse, against his lips and it’s too much, has Olly trying to grind up against him for friction on his dick, then down trying to sink himself onto Neil’s fingers further, neither quite doing it. “Missed you and your gorgeous little noises, missed how much you love it.”

He can feel sweat beading on his forehead, Neil’s pushing deeper now, rougher than before and Olly can’t get enough of the thick slide, the hot pressure still not enough.

“The way you’d writhe for me, how you’d fuck yourself on my fingers just like you’re doing now, so hot, sweetheart,” Neil’s breathier now, voice low and desperate, as he brushes a few errant curls off Olly’s forehead, touch impossibly tender.

“Neil, Jesus,” Olly presses up so his dick grazes alongside Neil’s thigh, smearing stickiness on him, slightly uncoordinated but it gets the message across.

“Yeah, alright, you’re ready aren’t you?” Neil fumbles for the condom for a moment, Olly shutting his eyes and swallowing as he hears the tear of foil, before looking back to watch Neil’s fingers slipping slightly as he gets it on.

He looms back across Olly, already looking dishevelled, eyes liquid dark as they look him over, before he returns for a quick kiss, Olly yielding immediately, mouth opening for his tongue.

“Fuck me, Neil, want you to fuck me –” he pleads in a rush when they part, and one of Neil’s hands settles high on his thigh pushes it back, knowing Olly loves the burn, before dragging the head of his cock back and forth across his hole for a moment, before starting to sink into him.

The wonderful feeling of being full is nearly too much to bear when it’s Neil he’s got braced above him, corded muscle standing out in his arms, biting his lip to control himself.

“Olls, Olly, you good?” he grits out, relief washing over his face when Olly nods slightly frantically, hitching one leg up round Neil to haul him closer.

He doesn’t hold back then – and maybe they should be going slower, making it last as long as possible, but Olly savours it as it is, fierce, desperate, tinged with all the longing they’ve been feeling over the past six months, both of them panting harshly.

The headboard bangs against the wall in time with Neil’s thrusts, and Olly spares the briefest moment to wonder if the fairly recent paint job he’d spent a weekend doing with Mikey is going to survive it, before deciding he has better, more pressing things to be thinking about, head still dizzy with lust.

It’s as if Neil noticed his mind wandering for that brief second though, as he catches Olly’s chin in one hand, eyes intense, murmuring brokenly, “everything is worse without you”.

Olly can’t hear more heartfelt words like that, not when too many feelings are already warring in his chest, so he quietens Neil with his mouth, a brief, fierce kiss, as Neil fucks into him deep.

He comes with his hand pulling Neil’s hair, the answering deep groan reverberating in his head, the only soundtrack he ever wants to future orgasms, and his leg slides off Neil shakily.

Neil doesn’t let up through it, and Olly blinks up at him hazily, urges him through the last few moments with a throaty “come on, baby,” and then Neil’s head tips back and he’s shuddering as he comes. 

He settles alongside Olly, pressing a kiss to the knob of his spine, mouthing something into his skin, though Olly can’t tell what it is.

“Don’t know how I ever thought I might be able to sleep with someone else and not think about you,” Neil’s hand is warm spanning Olly’s stomach, as Olly wriggles back into his chest.

“Better not make that mistake again then,” he can’t keep the smugness out of his voice and Neil snorts, tucks his chin over Olly’s shoulder to nip at his ear.

“Still got some convincing to do, hm?” Neil’s hesitant as he asks, and it reminds Olly how fragile everything is – even with how easy it is to slip into their old routines.

“Maybe a little.”

“I’ll do whatever you need to feel confident in us,” Neil says immediately.

Olly turns over to look at him directly. “I already know you regret it, and I want us more than anything, it’s just going to take a bit of time to get back to where we were.”

He sweeps his fingers along Neil’s face, smoothing the slight furrow in his brow, as he adds, “but it will happen”.

***

Later when they can pull themselves apart from one another for long enough to clean up, they settle at the kitchen counter with tomato soup and the end of a baguette between them. 

“I was going shopping tomorrow” Olly had shrugged apologetically when he’d found his cupboard and fridge lacking much in the way of a substantial dinner, before Neil had unearthed a can of Heinz from behind an empty cereal box of Mikey’s, presenting it to Olly with a flourish.

He hooks a foot around Neil’s ankle, and when they’re finished and Neil insists on clearing up even though Olly has hardly been cooking a three-course meal for hours, he watches him navigate around the kitchen easily, smiling at Neil’s familiarity with everything.

They’re planning on watching a bit of TV, but then Neil’s eyes light up when spots an old Scrabble game in the corner, so Olly duly gets it out on the coffee table and they play a horribly competitive game, that Neil inevitably wins.

Olly’s 80 per cent sure Neil swapped two of his tiles just before he got sixty something points, but he got distracted because Neil had nearly knocked the whole thing off the table, pinning Olly to the floor and kissing him thoroughly, telling him he couldn’t resist, before sitting back smugly and promptly setting down his high-scoring word.

Olly was suspicious at the time, but more concerned with the way Neil’s shirt was now hanging askew, so he got a nice view of his collar bone and chest, which was very pleasant but also very distracting.

He may have half thrown the game after that, just so he could push Neil up on the sofa and straddle him, rolling his hips against him until Neil had huffed and tugged Olly’s tracksuit bottoms down to his thighs so he could get him off again.

They’d made it to bed by about 12am, both drained but content, Olly suspecting he was wearing an indulgent smile matching the one Neil was sporting. They tangled up together, Neil pressing a fingertip briefly to Olly’s collar bone, looking pleased.

He hissed and Neil brushed a kiss there, saying, “mark already coming up there, might want a scarf tomorrow”.

“No need to sound so smug,” Olly pinches him briefly. “And don’t try and pretend you wouldn’t prefer I walk around with them all visible so everyone can see you’ve been at me.”

“Mmm, you’ve got me there.”

“Good, now shut up and go to sleep,” Olly shoves his hand over Neil’s wide grin, visible even in the dark, can’t stop smiling himself as Neil catches his hand and pulls it to his mouth, brushes a kiss across his knuckles.

When he falls asleep, his hand’s still interlinked with Neil’s.

***

Neil’s still out for the count when he wakes up to the dusky, muted morning light peeking through his curtains. Olly stretches out, grinning to himself, feeling sore in all the good ways, presses a finger briefly to the scattering of love bites along his neck, then lower, trailing along the few on his inner thighs.

He sighs, pleased, and sits up, looks over at Neil, duvet slipped to his waist, the stretch of his back accentuated by the dappled light playing across the bed, dark hair visible leading down from his stomach, something here. He’s tempted to curl back up around him, press as close as he can get, leeching his warmth, still feeling a neediness he can’t see abating for a while yet – he’s worried he could be pressed all along Neil matched up toe to toe and it still wouldn’t be close enough.

But there’s an itch he hasn’t felt in months that’s demanding his attention first, and it takes him a second to realise what it is, before a thrilling flutter starts up in his chest at the realisation.

He scrabbles out of bed, heads over to where his bag was abandoned carelessly by the door when they came in yesterday and digs out his notepad and pen. Climbing back into bed, he turns to a fresh page and lets the words suddenly at the front of his mind spill onto the page, pen scratching at speed in an attempt to catch them all before they slip away.

It’s a cliché about inspiration hitting when you least expect it, but he supposes it’s true, though if he thinks on that for longer, Olly’s hardly surprised that Neil still remains the source of inspiration as well as his happiness.

He’s not sure how long he’s been writing for, but there’s a dull ache in his hand, and a smear of ink along its side from where he’d hurried to get the words down, when he startles at a warm arm sliding round his waist.

“Morning you. What’s so important you’re up, scribbling away at like seven in the morning?” Neil’s voice is rumbling, and Olly stops to look at him, propped up on one elbow, hair mussed and eyes sleepy. His heart twists at the sight, and he wonders if he’ll ever be tired of seeing Neil’s face.

“I’m writing,” he says slightly shyly, feeling the admission is sharing a lot more than just those two words. 

“Nice things I hope,” Neil smiles, his thumb drifting up and down Olly’s side.

“A mixture so far,” he shakes his pen at Neil in what he hopes is a threatening way.

“Fair,” Neil acknowledges with a grimace, hand roving lower now, down Olly’s bare thigh. “Best get back to giving you good things to write about then.”

“This is like the first time I’ve written properly in months and you’re already trying to distract me,” Olly complains, but he doesn’t move his leg away.

“Looks like you’ve got loads done though, surely it’s time for a well-deserved break,” Neil says temptingly, leaning over as he says it to try and get a better look at the pages filled with ink.

“Stop trying to read over my shoulder, you’ll jinx everything,” he bats Neil’s hand away from where it reaches up half-heartedly for the notebook. 

Admitting defeat, he tucks it away under the bed, out of Neil’s reach, before moving back to sprawl out on top of him. “There, that should stop your wandering hands.”

Neil lets out a pleased huff, hands immediately stroking up and down his spine, before coming to rest low on the small of Olly’s back. “I’m not sure how you figured spreading your very attractive, very naked self on top of me was going to put a dampener on my wandering hands,” he replies, low and amused.

Olly groans, as if he’s made a terrible mistake, rather than managed to get quite possibly the love of his life pinned beneath him, all warm skin and fond smile.

“Oh god, what have I done?”

“Didn’t think that one through did you?” He can feel Neil’s chuckle vibrate from underneath, his hands straying further down, cupping Olly’s arse.

“I know, silly, silly me,” he murmurs, giving into the urge and covering up Neil’s smug grin with his lips in a slow, sweet kiss.

Neil presses on the small of his back in encouragement and Olly lets his full body weight rest down on Neil, one hand pushing up into Neil’s hair, wanting to rough it up more.

He sits back, legs on either side of Neil, lets his hands drift down his chest, before letting his nails scratch down a little, Neil’s eyes fluttering a little, a turned on “mmm” slipping out.

“I’ve got all these marks from you yesterday, and then here you are with all this pretty, unblemished skin,” Olly muses, stomach tightening at the way Neil’s eyes flick to his neck and then his thighs, expression possessive and pleased, before he returns his gaze to Olly, shrugs casually though the heat in his eyes tells a different story. 

“Better make up for that then, hadn’t you?” he says quietly, anticipation heavy in his voice.

“Suppose I should,” he gives Neil a wicked smirk, before letting his nails scrape down again, a little harder, faint red tracks left in their wake.

“Olly,” Neil bites out. He’s never been good at patience, Olly thinks affectionately, enjoying watching his Adam’s apple move on a heavy swallow, head tilted back on the pillow.

He shifts down lower, thumbnails dragging along the edge of Neil’s hipbones, following the line of definition, before he strokes a hand down a thigh, “up”.

Neil moves it up immediately, setting his foot flat on the bed, thigh quivering just slightly when Olly scrapes down it, just on the edge of painful.

He cups Neil’s balls in one hand, rolling them tenderly, at odds with the sharp sting of his nails from his other hand on the sensitive skin of Neil’s inner thigh. Olly decides if Neil’s going to disturb him early in the morning, he can wait for a bit for his orgasm, leaning down and letting his breath ghost across Neil’s cock, though just the sight of it so hard and so close to him is making his mouth water.

“Such a fucking tease,” Neil groans, and Olly flicks his gaze up slowly to meet his eyes. Neil lets out a rushed breath at that with a muttered, “bloody bedroom eyes”, before Olly leans in a little closer, lets Neil’s cock bump along his slightly parted lips.

“Baby, come on,” Neil grits out, but he’s not moving, and Olly’s pleased he’s letting Olly set the pace even though his abs are straining with the effort.

He mouths over the tip lightly, before moving away, settles his lips back up near Neil’s navel, and kisses his way down from there instead.

When he takes him in properly, Neil lets out a short, hurt noise at the sudden hot, tight wet of Olly’s mouth, and shifts a little as if trying to hold himself back. Olly rewards him for that by sinking right down, eyes prickling a little at the sudden adjustment his throat has to make, but loving the feel of having Neil hot, wanting and filling his mouth. 

It’s when he flicks his tongue out after moving back a little, that he scratches his nails right along the low v of Neil’s hips, near enough to his groin that Olly hears a sharp intake of breath from above him, and a quivery “fuck, babe”.

Neil doesn’t long, Olly hadn’t really expected him to, but he’s still a little caught off-guard by just how intensely it seems to hit Neil, arm across his eyes, chest rising and falling heavily, riding out the aftershocks.

“Much better,” Olly says smugly, looking at his handiwork of swipes of red along Neil’s thighs, sore but not to the extent where they’re going to be distracting him later during the day.

They brush their teeth together but shower separately, despite Neil’s protests (“I actually do have some things to do today,” Olly had said as sternly as he could manage, knowing they’d probably use up half the bloody hot water if they went in together and not emerge for ages) and it’s wonderfully domestic – familiar yet unknown too.

When Neil leaves an hour or so later, after nicking Olly’s last banana, he leans on the frame of the front door, reaches out to toy with the string of Olly’s hoodie, beckoning him in. Olly goes easily, lets Neil hold his face between his hands so tenderly, watching him get closer until he goes cross-eyed and gives up, shutting them entirely.

Neil kisses him like he wants Olly to remember it all day, like he wants him licking over his bottom lip absent-mindedly later, thinking of Neil sucking on it. And he will, he knows it. The warm glow that’s been bubbling in his chest since yesterday has gone molten – his ache for Neil had been so all-consuming that now he’s got him again, it’s like it doesn’t quite know what to do. So it lingers a hot yearning in his chest, but it’s quelled a little, having Neil close to him.

When Neil ends the kiss, he stays there, their foreheads touching as he says, “don’t even want to let you go right now”.

“You’re seeing me this evening,” Olly points out, since Neil had insisted he take out Olly out on an official date now they’re officially back together.

“That’s hours away,” Neil says sulkily, and Olly smiles, runs a thumb along Neil’s pouty bottom lip.

“You can text me if you get bored,” he offers magnanimously, instantly regretting it at the glimmer of naughtiness that sparks up in Neil’s eyes. “Nothing dirty, I will be out with other people.”

Neil just gives him a lopsided grin, steps back and lifts two fingers to his head in a salute. “You can most definitely expect some texts from me today, Mr Alexander.”

“Neil, I mean it. You’ll be the one getting dumped if I open up a message and it’s your naked arse while I’m in public.”

“Okay, no arse but I’m noting you said nothing about dick,” Neil nods, grin still in place as he walks backward. Olly almost wants him to fall over, just to wipe that stupid smile off his face.

“Neil,” he says short, sharp, totally undermined by the answering grin on his face.

“Look forward to it,” Neil says with a final nod, pointing at Olly as he goes, before reaching the corner and disappearing with a little wave.

“Wanker,” Olly mutters far too affectionately, slumps against the door when he shuts it and shakes his head at his own ridiculousness. 

He’s got another hour before he has to leave and he spends it jotting down more lyrics, floodgates seemingly open now, the hopeful feeling overriding the remnants of hurt and words coming easily now.

He can already tell this is going to be writing he’ll want to show Mikey and Emre, that there's finally going to be progress on the new album, but it’s also going to carry more vulnerability than anything else he’s done before. 

His phone vibrates as he’s writing, and he knows who it is before even digging it out of his pocket.

_admit it, you were disappointed this wasn’t a dick pic._

He’s grinning to himself again, thinks he maybe didn’t realise quite how much smiling he does when Neil’s around. Thinks that while the new album is going to be his most vulnerable music yet, it could well be his happiest too.


End file.
